


Long Nights of Christmas

by Urbanvix



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Vampires, fluff and monsters, xmas special
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21938668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Urbanvix/pseuds/Urbanvix
Summary: A silly seasonal thing. A sequence of tiny one-shots featuring two monsters at Christmas time.(Loosely based in my Old Blood sequence)
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**December 1st  
  
** Geoffrey McCullum stood his ground against the vampire. That building was the leech's territory, not his. He planted his feet. He wasn't going in.  
  
“ _Follow me_.”   
  
Now, that wasn't fucking fair.

Drawn on by his Maker's voice, Geoffrey had no choice but to bow his head, grumble and follow Reid in.

The bell jangled merrily at the top of the door, and Geoffrey cursed internally at the sight of the little man who came forward. Elegantly dressed with a tight black moustache curled up with wax, the tailor was all smiles. As the good ship Reid sailed into the tide of high-class banter with the tailor, discussing cut and taper; darts and vents, the lumbering barge of Geoffrey McCullum felt utterly capsized.

There wasn't a single price tag to be seen. There was a goddamn piano in the corner. There was _holly_ on it, and tinsel around the door.

There was only one kind of shop that wasted space on a _goddamn piano._ This wasn't a man's clothing shop. This was **toff** territory.

Geoffrey McCullum had been dragged into a Gentleman's Clothing Store, and there was fuck all he could do about it.

“These never last, Reid.” He muttered under his breath, as the doctor thrust expensive fabric into his hands.   
  
His Maker, his monster, squeezed his arse gently and purred back, into his ear, “I don't care. They're worth it, while they do.”  
  



	2. December 10th

**December 10th  
  
** McCullum's turn. Of course, Reid would know that he was home; he could sense him. However, that didn't mean he knew exactly _where_ he was. Not unless he had reason to look.

Maybe he would check above it before he opened the door. Maybe he wouldn't. Not knowing was half the fun.

The door swung open and as the doctor stepped across the threshold, utterly unsuspecting. McCullum dropped down. The collar snapped closed around the beast's neck, before he could get his claws in to wrench his progeny away.  
  
McCullum rolled back to his feet in one, easy motion.

“Geoffrey.” The monster hissed, taking a step forward. “What -” The chain jangled. Reid stopped, looking surprised.  
  
“Careful, beast.” McCullum warned with a filthy smile and an upwards nod.  
  
Reid did not look at first. Instead, he stood rigid, motionless as he raised his fingers to brush the loop encircling his neck. It was wide enough to rest on his shirt collar, not on his skin, and it was easy to tell he suspected it was silver.  
  
It wasn't, of course, as the doctor found out when his long, manicured fingers brushed it without burning.

“What on God's green earth are you _up to_?” Reid smiled, showing a seductive hint of fangs.

“Look up, beast.”  
  
At last, the doctor did, following the slender chain up to the carefully balanced bushel above him, squinting as he made out the mechanism that would drop the lot on him if the chain went taught.  
  
“Is that …. mistletoe?”  
  
“Mmmhmm.” McCullum confirmed. “A whole bushel of it.”  
  
“And...?” Jonathan tilted his head carefully, not understanding.

“It's _fresh,_ Reid.”  
  
The vampire's pupils constricted in anticipation as he finally, finally got it. Garlic was more traditional, but any fresh plant would burn a vampire. It was why wooden stakes worked while steel ones were only an inconvenience.   
  
“Think you're fast enough to get out of the way?” McCullum chuckled as he strode easily back towards his Maker.  
  
“You know I am, Hunter.” Reid purred in answer.  
  
McCullum came close, almost nose-to-nose, close enough to bite, close enough to kiss. His hands closed around Reid's belt, tugging it open. “Best I give you a handicap then.”  
  
The expensive trousers dropped around Reid's ankles. The monster growled and leaned in to kiss him, freezing a centimetre from his lips the moment the chain jangled warningly.

“Careful beast.” McCullum whispered, then purred. “Don't struggle now.”  
  
Sliding down, McCullum knelt down to kiss his Maker under the mistletoe.  
  
Soon they'd find out just how good Reid's self-control really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is a silly thing, I'm not paying as much attention to post-war shortages as normal ;) Apologies for the inaccuracies, but hope you enjoy the sleigh ride.


	3. December 14th

_**14**_ _ **th**_ _ **December**_ _  
  
Cpt Jeremiah Wilson. _The letter had begun. The handwriting, Wilson noted, was pinched tight. Not the messy and rambling curves he'd seen before, but compressed and controlled. A doctor's hand, but one he was making an effort to keep _legible_.

The rest read;

_I wish to assure you of my enduring gratitude for your past assistance. It will not be forgotten. However, if you would oblige me, I find myself in need of your advice once more._

_If you receive this missive in due time, I would be grateful for a meeting in the usual place, on Tuesday at nine pm._

_Sincerely,  
  
Dr Jonathan Emmet Reid  
  
_It was the kind of thing an old vampire would write; full of subtle, predatory control and assumption of power. Still, the vampire had given him an 'out' if he didn't turn up, one that wouldn't be _offensive_ to the old blood in his veins. That was the important part. A little professional courtesy, between hunters.

Since Wilson had been doing double-duty between Priwen and the Brotherhood for eleven years now, he had a better grasp on that than most. You didn't get to be an old soldier without learning a little caution, however,  
  
At the top of the stairs of the Turqoise Turtle, he checked his ammunition. Before he knocked on the door, he thumbed the oricalchum canister to the ready position.  
  
He knocked. No answer. The door swung open when he turned the handle. The lights were on. The doors to the balcony were closed. Good visibility to the right. He checked his left, hidden behind the door.

Well, the room was empty. Dr Reid was playing by the Brotherhood rules. Good on him.

He did the usual, giving the place a once over, and picked his position. Truth was, against something like Dr Reid, he wouldn't have much chance to fight back unless he saw it coming first. But at least he didn't need to sit down. The Ekon was almost as tall as Geff, so Wilson could stand and still not look like he was trying to pose a threat.  
  
Nothing else for it. He opened the door to the balcony and stepped back.  
  
A puff of displaced air and the Ekon joined him. Fast enough to bewilder mortal eyes, so that it always looked like shadows curving, breaking away like smoke when the vampire stopped moving.  
  
Easy to forget how _tall_ this one was.

“Good morning, Mr Wilson.” The vampire doctor began formally, “Are you comfortable?”

“Very comfortable, Dr Reid.” He answered amicably. “Thank you for your consideration. I received your message.”  
  
The ritual completed, the vampire doctor smiled and turned away. With no fear at all, the vampire settled in one of the chairs, placing himself at a complete disadvantage against the hunter.

He was a cocky one, alright. Truth be told, he had a right to be.

“What can I help you with, doctor?”  
  
“It's Geoffrey.” Dr Reid sounded exasperated, clasping his hands in his lap.

Wilson raised an eyebrow. “What's the problem?”  
  
“He's absolutely impossible.” The doctor sighed, enough at his ease to show just a hint of a snarl. “I'm at a complete loss. Anything you could suggest would be a help. It's the 14th already and I am absolutely dry.”  
  
That brought him up sharp. “What are we talking about, precisely?”  
  
“I don't know.” Dr Reid threw his hands up in exasperation. “Weapons? He must have a favourite.”  
  
“That'd be his crossbow.” Wilson hesitated. He'd been around too many old beasts to waver; it looked weak. Dr Reid wasn't a Vulkod, but he was dangerously bloodthirsty. Looking weak was not a route to a healthy lifespan. “Doctor, I'd like to help, but I'd be grateful for a touch more clarity. Has something gone wrong? Is he alright?”  
  
The vampire doctor straightened at that. “No, nothing's _wrong._ ” The doctor seemed to compose himself, for a moment, considering. Then he gave a small, self-depreciating chuckle. “This is our first Christmas, Captain Wilson, and I needed to speak to someone who has known my progeny for longer than I have. He's impossible to shop for.”

Over the last decade, Captain Wilson had smiled politely at the little jokes Ekons made. He had chuckled to appease the predators when they made little puns or snorted at uncomfortable jibes intended to disarm him.  
  
Never, not once, had he laughed like **this.**  
  
It was dangerous, but he couldn't stop. If the vampire took umbrage... but no, Doctor Reid was laughing too. By the stole, he was a strange one.

“I'll...” He wheezed, “Give it... a think.”  
  
"I would appreciate it." The vampire chuckled.   
  
Outside, a group of carol singers were just starting up. Their high-pitched voices recalled the bells at Christmas time, pealing for Peace on Earth and Good Will between all men. 


	4. December 15th

**December 15th**  
  
“How about this one?” Charlotte asked, dabbing a little on her wrist. The cologne was heady, but his vampire senses could pick out the taint of _piss_ in it. He told her so.  
  
“That's just ammonia, Geoffrey. What about this one?”  
  
“Smells like fish.”  
  
“It's ambergris, Geoffrey.” She put the bottle down, exasperated. Pausing to thank and tip the little man serving at the counter, she looped her arm under his and lead him away. “We'll never find anything if you insist on being so picky.”  
  
It was another toff store. Everything was red and green and sparkling; a world apart from the grime and grey smog outside. Did the upper class really live like this? Completely detached from reality? It explained a lot.  
  
“It's not like I can help it, lass. But I don't fancy Reid smelling as if I've marked him like a lamp-post.”  
  
She giggled at that. “Well, cologne is the gift you give to yourself, they say. Maybe we should be thinking about ... less discerning nostrils? You know," She squeezed his arm flirtatiously, "Something to make it _impossible_ to resist an invitation to a darkened alley?”  
  
“You're as awful as he is, sometimes.” Geoffrey complained, squeezing her back to take any sting out of his words. Worse, the idea had merit.  
  
God, how did you shop for a monster like Reid?


	5. December 19th

**December 19 th**  
  
Out from the frosted streets, down below where air hung heavy with sweat. The acrid smells of booze and piss needled between the heady press of bodies.  
  
This was more like it!  
  
Everyone had their Christmas traditions. A solid bare-knuckle fight **was** the start of the season for Geoffrey McCullum. This one was particularly special. Big Joe' McFadden would be facing off against Del 'The Rake' Gardner in about five minutes. There'd be blood in the air, but McCullum would manage. He hadn't seen Big Joe in a proper scrap in two years and he wasn't about to miss the chance. Even though it took some pushing, he made it to the weaselly little bookie and his papers in time.  
  
He threw down 5 shillings on Joe and growled and glowered his way to a prime spot. Crowds like this were always populated by nasty little alley-cats, but most of them recognised a proper tiger when it prowled in and they made room for him. As the contenders entered, Geoffrey added his voice to the roar.  
  
As Big Joe raised his arms and bellowed back, the sound fell away... drawing distant. McCullum jabbed a finger into his ear to clear it, but soon enough he realised why.  
  
The chords came swinging into his mind like cheerful fists; ' _God rest ye merry gentlemen, Let nothing you dismay.'_

_Oh FUCK OFF, Reid!_

He hadn't admitted to Reid yet that he **knew** his Maker sang to himself when he thought no one could hear. He hadn't admitted how often Geoffrey caught the second-hand songs, mostly because Reid's baritone was actually pretty good and... well... he was quite often singing about _him._  
  
But now was not the god damn time.  
  
Del 'The Rake' came swaggering in next. Lean as a panther, and just as dark, he looked like he'd been spat out of some pit when Satan wouldn't have him. Fuckit, McCullum might be here for Joe, but he'd roar for his opponent as well, along with the rest of the frenzied crowd.  
  
 _'Remember -mmmhmmmmhmm- was born on Christmas Day',_ continued the merry carol.

The contenders took their corners. Silence fell. The bell rang and -  
  
 _'To save us all from Satan's pow'r.'_ It rolled in with a tingle of amusement. ' _When we were gone astray'_

They circled. Rake was a wirey bastard and Joe knew better than to open up for him. Make him come in first. That was the way.  
  
 _'Bringing tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy, bringing tidings of '-_

A quick couple of jabs. An opener, easy to follow. Joe blocked, then sunk his foot beneath a slipping punch. Rake took it on the shoulder, not the jaw, and rolled away from the follow-on. McCullum snarled, willing the bastard to stay still and fight like a fucking man.

 _'Co-omfort and joy'._ Reid finished, and the sound of the fight tumbled back.  
  
 _Oh, thank fuck._

 _'_ _Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the Feast of Stephen_ _,_ _'_ _–_ He started up again.

“OH FUCK OFF!”  
  
He _had_ to teach Reid some better carols. If only he could work out how without admitting why...


	6. December 21st

**December 21 st**

McCullum was starting to get desperate. He had no doubt at all that Reid intended to do the gift-giving thing and there was _**no fucking way**_ he was going to be caught empty-handed... receiving unrequited presents like a charity-case or... worse yet... a _**mistress.**_

If he was honest about it, the thought _**had**_ crossed his mind to just bolt if he couldn't think of anything. He could lay low for a couple of nights, turn back up and pretend he hadn't wanted to put up with Reid's insufferable Christmas spirit.

He told himself that he wouldn't because it would mean he'd been outwitted, not because he couldn't bear to think of Reid... sat alone … waiting for him to come home at Christmas.

God, what was _**wrong**_ with him?!  
  
Maybe he could just go for the standard; a pint of Guinness and a pack of fags, and make up some poetry about treating Jonathan like a god-damn _**human**_ for a change.  
  
No, too pat. Reid would see through it in a heartbeat. And he'd be fucking _**nice**_ about it too. Bastard.

He could always just get some ribbon... the old 'gift wrapped cock'...  
  
Christ, what the fuck was he thinking? Might as well slip on an apron and bring Reid his slippers if he opened that can of worms. Wrap himself up like a fucking present for a vampire. God...  
  
… there had to be **something.**


	7. December 22nd

**December 22** **nd** **  
  
**McCullum froze at the gathering shadows outside the front door, and ducked behind a pillar. Just over half a dozen, moving as one. The flickering light of open flame danced on the frosted glass. Their hearts weren't racing; they weren't afraid, but they were approaching down the driveway with calm determination.  
  
He snarled.  
  
Brotherhood? No, they'd send a message in advance. They knew better than to drop in on a pair of vampires unannounced. Priwen ? Unlikely, but not impossible, if his cover had been blown.  
  
Even so, how had they _found_ them? They weren't as discreet as they might be, but they were plenty discreet enough.  
  
In a burst of shadows, Reid was alongside him. He'd sensed his progeny readying for combat. No further words needed. With the two of them together, there wasn't much they couldn't handle.

The group came straight to the door and rang the bell. They were ballsy; he'd give them that.  
  
Then Jonathan's amusement came piping into his head like a piccolo. The vampire squeezed his shoulder, and _tutted_. Geoffrey answered with a glare, shifting to consternation as the doctor strolled forward, flicked on the light and opened the door.  
  
“JOY TO THE WORLD.” They sang, in rough but earnest chorus, “The lord is come. Let earth receive her King!”  
  
The carollers clutched candles; little lights against the dark; flickering flames reflecting on the frosted glass. Reid turned back to him with a shit-eating grin. That much smugness should be fucking criminal.

“Let every heart prepa-a-are Him room, and Heaven and nature sing.” The group piped on, oblivious.  
  
Winking, Reid pushed the thought into his head. _Welcome to living in the West End, Geoffrey. Enjoy it while it lasts._

McCullum grumbled. But sure enough, Reid was soaking it all in, nodding along with a polite and beneficent smile. It felt oddly... indulgent. Being serenaded by strangers. About half way through, he gave in and came forward, lounging by the other side of the door to listen.

When the song had ended, Reid gave them a few coins and wished them a merry season. Geoffrey had to admit, it had been... nice.

A thin rumble slipped into his mind; wordless, but Geoffrey knew what it meant. He glared at his Maker. Reid had slipped into that lean, predatory stance. His nostrils were flaring as he watched them go.  
  
“Don't you fucking dare, leech.” McCullum growled, as he dragged him away from the door.  
  
  



	8. December 23rd

**December 23 rd **

Geoffrey was ravenous, but he wasn't worried about it. There were still five names on his little list; real bastards, people who the world would be better off without. People he could forgive himself for … well... for eating right before Christmas.

Even so, anger always gave his hunger a sharper edge. He'd come back to the house tonight to find Reid sneezing and red-eyed. Not red in the way they always were, beneath the mask, but puffy and red like he'd stuck his face in a flower.

He practically had.

He'd tried to put up a god-damn Christmas tree. The smell of fresh pine had almost burned Geoffrey's nostrils and it was all he could do drag the damn thing out to the yard before he poisoned himself too.  
  
When he was on the hunt, Reid could be one of the most vicious leeches McCullum had ever tracked. At other times, he was just about the most inept vampire he'd ever heard of. At times like this, McCullum felt fucking _embarrassed_ that Reid had been the one to finally take him down.  
  
Mind you, it was easy to forget how young a leech he really was.

Wait.

That was it.

That was fucking **_it_**.

But, was it a good idea?  
  
Fuck no.  
  
Which made it fucking **_perfect._**


	9. December 24th

**December 24 th   
  
**“Are you alright, Mr Wright?”   
  
The tall man looked startled to be asked. In all honesty, Jefferson wasn't certain he ought to have. There was a dangerous air about this client, and Wright certainly wasn't his given name.   
  
Still, he was well dressed, spoke eloquently and paid in cash. Two of those were desirable qualities. The third was absolutely vital in the circumstances.

“I'm perfectly fine, Mr Jefferson. Is there anything else I need to know?”   
  
Jefferson thought before answering. Mr Wright's voice was unnerving too; a baritone so deep that at times he seemed to growl, like some great forest beast. It was as well the man was willing to pay the full price; Jefferson didn't like the idea of trying to haggle with him. He didn't seem like the kind of man who liked to be second-guessed.  
  
“No, I'm certain we've covered everything. If you could sign here, Mr Wright, it'll be yours.”   
  
“Thank you. It's been a pleasure working with you.”  
  
The signature was awful. Barely legible. But again, that didn't matter. Most likely, this chap was a member of some white-collar outfit; the kind of high-class criminal enterprise where he'd be glad to never decipher their real names.  
  
Jefferson was grateful to leave. As he skirted the ice past match sellers and carollers, he was struck by a strange sense of being granted reprieve. Something told him he'd been lucky tonight and not only because of the thick rolls of notes he'd be laundering on boxing day.   
  
**  
  
McCullum paused outside, taking a good long moment to make sure Reid wasn't home. As soon as he was certain, he went in through the front door and stashed his little haul away where the beast wouldn't find it.   
  
In the end, Reid was back late anyway. He was blood-drunk and merry, which wasn't unwelcome. McCullum had been absolutely clear; tomorrow, they weren't hunting. Not even bastards.

Not on Christmas.


	10. Christmas Day

**December 25 th 1919**

While the poor gathered together and the wealthy ate and revelled, while the church bells rang and the choirs sang, the vampires slept. No ghosts came as they slept through the day. No spirits to demand repentance, or command them to seek a better way.

It had been a hard year, yet hope reigned. The epidemic had been beaten back and The War was won. Time would tell if it had truly been the war to end all wars. But, on the home front, it wasn't what mattered. This year, though there was many an empty place at a table, there were far fewer than the year before. The fathers, sons and brothers were trickling home at last, to fill them once more.  
  
For the first time in four years, peace on earth seemed possible. For one day, at least, they could believe. In many ways, this one day was what they had all been fighting for.  
  
Even the vampires intended to recognise it. An armistice of the soul. A time for succour.

As the sun set, at the Hampton Night Asylum, the poor and disenfranchised found a beacon of love and light. Not only that, but an open table. It was astonishing that such generosity was possible under post-war rationing, but it was. Spreads and chutneys, jams and pickles, dried meat and potatoes; enough preserves for all comers to join the Sad Saint in his earnest gratitude for the Lord's bounty.   
  
The donors were, as always, anonymous; their names known only to God, themselves and the Saint. If Mr Hampton seemed to glance towards the darkening night more often than usual, that was only to be expected. For he was joyous that tonight, he would not need to turn any man, woman or child away. Tonight, there was enough for all.   
  
  



	11. Christmas Night

**Sunset, December 25** **th**

As always, they opened their eyes at the same time. Usually, this would be the moment when Geoffrey would attack; a morning tussle that it was Jonathan's delight to anticipate, to win and – occasionally – even to lose.

Not tonight.

For a long minute, they lay still. There was no sound anyone else could have heard; no heartbeats, no breath. Yet in the space between them, the blood thrummed as they listened to the consciousness in the body entwined with theirs.

“This is nice.” His Hunter grumbled.

“Isn't it.” Jonathan agreed.

A moment passed.

“Don't get used to it, beast.”

“I don't intend to, Hunter.”

Another moment.

“Alright then. That's enough of that.” Geoffrey rose, stretched and pulled two cigarettes out of the packet, lighting both and offering one to him. Jonathan took it with a smile as Geoffrey got out of bed.

The Hunter stretched, tendons popping as he asked. “Are you going to lead me a merry chase tonight, or am I lucky enough to get some peace and quiet for Christmas?”

“What compels you to believe I have something planned?” Jonathan grinned.

“This is me.” Geoffrey said, indicating his magnificently naked self, “Not dignifying that with an answer.”

**  
  
“Do you like it?” Reid asked and it was fucking endearing how nervous he sounded.

“Reid,” He all-but whispered, “It's perfect.”

“I took your measurements at Campbell's. I thought, now that you don't need to breathe - ”  
  
Geoffrey shut him up with a snog. “It's perfect. Just take the compliment. I fucking love it.”

Just like Reid, he remembered all too well how easily his bandolier and arsenal had fallen apart under Jonathan's claws in their second fight. This metal, chain and leather contraption would hold up much, much better. It would have been a bloody nightmare to move in when he was alive. But he wasn't any more and it hadn't occurred to him to take advantage of that.  
  
“Got to admit I'm impressed.” Geoffrey added, “You had me worried I'd wake up to some poor bastard hog-tied under the Christmas tree.”

Sheepishly, Jonathan admitted. “I decided against it. Though, to be honest Geoffrey, you're a bit of a nightmare to shop for.”  
  
In merry outrage, Geoffrey spat. “Fucking pot, fucking kettle; fucking **black**.”  
  
God Damn. He was glad he'd managed to get him something after all.  
  
“Now, sit your arse down.”

**  
  
Jonathan honestly hadn't expected anything, but of course his Hunter would always find a way to surprise him. Geoffrey slung a heavy packet onto his lap, bundled with string.  
  
Jonathan took his time with it, cutting the string and gently unfolding the brown paper. The book inside was very familiar. He felt a pang of... something like grief.  
  
Bram Stoker's Dracula. A book Elisabeth had advised personally, but Geoffrey could not have known that. It was a gift to be given anything at all; an expression of the affection Geoffrey was so reluctant to show otherwise.

He was about to form his thanks when the Hunter said, “Look inside, beast.”  
  
Intrigued, he did.

It was annotated, but the worn pages and softened spine indicated it was not new. It had been read many times in the past. Therefore, it must have been a much younger Geoffrey who had scribbled out the words _Dracula, by Bram Stoker_ and replaced them with _Bullshit, by some poor bastard._

Throughout the book, Geoffrey had made edits and additions, making notes such as ' _Does not work'_ and ' _Bang on_ ' and ' _Fucks sake'_.

Here and there, his additions changed the calibre and tone of the tale greatly. Flicking towards the end, he noted that the final chapters were swarmed with imprecations, circling statements by the antagonist which were clearly, in Geoffrey's mind, the product of subtle mesmerisms. More and more, he implored the antagonist to just 'get his shit together'.

It was a glimpse into Geoffrey's mind. The man he had been. A gift that ought to have taken years to draw out of him.

Loose paper tumbled from the back. Though momentarily alarmed, Jonathan realised they were not part of the book as he teased through them.

Index of Effective Herbs. Interrogation Techniques. Staking and Sunlight.  
  
They were Priwen advisories.

His vision pinked, filming with red as emotion overtook him.

Geoffrey growled, “You're a bloody embarrassment, Jonathan. You share those with any other leech and I'll prove to you that it's not _everything_ I know. But maybe this way,” His tone softened, “You won't poison yourself before I get to do the deed.”  
  
Jonathan could no longer give polite thanks. Emelyne Reid would likely have been disappointed by her son's disregard for formality, but that didn't bother the doctor.  
  
All he cared for, as he set the papers aside, was finding way to express his feelings more directly.

**  
  
The West End streets were still thronging, as the toffs took their evening strolls among the peasantry. Here, hansom cabs and taximeter cars ran the 'squiffy' folk between their 'engagements'. Around them, the rest of the world 'got on' and 'got drunk'. God bless 'em, every one, even the posh gits.

Even them, maybe, tonight.

It was weird how differently people treated him here, when he was walking with Reid. It was a nice enough night though. He bought roast chestnuts, and carried them against his chest, enjoying the aroma. Kids were throwing slush-balls and using flat-soled shoes to skate on the frozen road.  
  
When the urge became too strong, they darted into alleyways to steal swift, fang-filled kisses. Buggery was still a crime, and it wouldn't do to draw that kind of attention. Not on Christmas.

“Reid.” He said eventually, though he was reluctant to break the mood.  
  
“Yes, Geoffrey?”  
  
“You're leading me somewhere. Don't try to deny it. I've been doing this too long.”  
  
Jonathan ducked his head and clucked his tongue in embarrassment. “Am I that transparent?”

“To me, sure.” Geoffrey teased. “Where are we going?”  
  
“Trust me a little longer, Hunter. You'll see.”  
  
Geoffrey was willing enough. He'd known Jonathan had something else planned; he'd caught little whispers of it. That was why he hadn't given Jonathan _everything_ back at the house. The last gift was in his pocket, and he was very careful not to think about it, in case his Maker picked up the thought.

***  
  
“Did you buy a bloody house?!” Geoffrey fumed.  
  
“Not quite.” Jonathan admitted, carefully considering his words as he passed the keys to Geoffrey.

The Hunter growled, a tad resentfully, “You didn't buy **me** a bloody house?”  
  
“No.” Jonathan chuckled. He'd known Geoffrey would refuse to live there if he had. “No, I didn't. Charlotte and I have bought a property, but she's going to stay on at the Manor.”  
  
Jonathan swung the front door open and flicked on the lights. Work would need to be done but it had been cheap at the price, with house prices collapsing after the war.  
  
“This,” He said, indicated the floor beyond, “Is **our** house. If you'll accept it.”  
  
He could see, and sense, Geoffrey rallying to refuse. The merry thread of Christmas cheer was drawn taught, in danger of snapping under the pressure of his Maker's possessive streak. That was part of being Maker and Progeny, of course. But that didn't make it rankle any less against the Hunter's independent streak.

“Please.” He whispered, looping his fingers with Geoffrey's. “Bear with me.”

He collected the papers from the counter. Taking the time to weight his words, he couldn't help but feel the similarity to a proposal... only one between monsters, rather than giddy lovers.

“Geoffrey,” He said slowly, “I know it rankles that London is my territory, and as my progeny you only have a … secondary claim to it. So, this is my gift to you, as your Maker.”

He offered the papers out. Without a smile, without giving any ground, Geoffrey took them. Jonathan saw his eyes skitter and stutter across the florid legalese.  
  
Jonathan explained, “The bottom floor is yours, if you want it. Really yours. I gift it to you. Do whatever you like with it. If you want to block off the door, I'll just use the bedroom window to get upstairs. In this one space, you set the rules, not I.” Taking a deep breath, hoping it would be enough, he finished. “I relinquish my claim on it.”  
  
**  
  
 _Fucking bastard_. Geoffrey thought, as the rest of his mind tumbled into stunned silence. _Bastard._

Reid was waiting, looking at him with none of the monstrous hunger he was used to. He only looked sad, and hopeful, like a puppy.

Like a god damn puppy.

Voice hoarse, Geoffrey fished in his pocket, closing his fingers around his other gift. “One question.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
Without anger, he asked. “Who is this? The fake name you've given for me. And is it a fucking joke?”  
  
Reid's expression creased with humour, “What do you mean?”  
  
“Mr Wright.”  
  
“Oh, it's not important. It's a common name around the docks and I just needed something that wouldn't raise any eyebrows.”

“Do you realise what you've fucking _**done?”**_ He growled, without malice, as he met Jonathan's eyes.

His Maker seemed to be thrown by that. “No?”  
  
“Mr Wright... and Dr Reid." He said pointedly,"Read...and Write.”  
  
Jonathan looked confused, then gaped as he fucking got it. “I didn't mean – it was just – I had to think on the spot, Geoffrey.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Honestly.” Jonathan looked appalled, adorably aggrieved that he might have tainted his gift somehow.  
  
“Well, in that case.” Geoffrey smirked, then let it fall away. Sometimes, it was important to let the mask drop. Maybe just now, just at Christmas, he could let himself be honest with his monster. “I accept, Reid. Thank you. But, actually, I have one more gift for you.”  
  
Jonathan's expression cascaded through different kinds of delight as Geoffrey advanced on him. Amazingly, Jonathan actually backed away without resistance. He had really meant it, about giving this place up to his progeny. None of Reid's instincts were kicking off as he retreated.  
  
He backed him up to a wall. Pinning Jonathan against it with his body, disguising the motion within the embrace, he slipped the collar around his Maker's neck as their lips met.

“This one **is** silver, Reid. And it's on a ratchet.”  
  
A gentle hiss, through Reid's teeth. Instinctive, but excited.

“This is my house, monster.” He growled, “So let's lay some ground rules.”  
  
Outside, the bells rang for evening mass. The December nights were long and luxurious. Wrapped up warm inside, with all the cold and cruelty of the world distant behind frost-webbed windows, Christmas was a time to spend together. A time to come to an understanding.  
  
A time just for them.  
  
So they took it. Together.

*****   
  
~ Fin ~  
  
And a very merry season to you all!   
  
If you enjoyed this, please click that 'kudos' button (it works even if you don't have an account with Ao3). It's the gift that keeps on giving, since it tells me this foray into happy fluff worked and it feels like a big old Christmas hug.   
  
Thank you for reading, and I hope you have a truly excellent new year ! 


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